As you may remember, I am frantically editing my manuscript before I go to the Big Sur Writing Workshop a week from tomorrow, and in doing so, I have neglected reading in favor of spending all my time writing.
I think it’s fair to do that for a short amount of time (for me, six weeks), but it’s starting to feel unhealthy. When I read, I join in on a large conversation, I connect with a bigger community. Writing the way I have for the last five weeks is a much more solitary act. I feel a little lonesome and left out, as if I was in the restroom when the juiciest gossip was shared.
When Big Sur is over, let me tell you, I’m knocking down doors and rejoining that conversation. It’s what feeds my writing.
Can. Not. Wait.
P.S. I literally have … hold on, I’ll go count … sixteen new books on my shelves. Dying.